A Racer's Pride
by crankyman7
Summary: In 1982, Litwak's Arcade receives TurboTime, the latest hit game. It quickly proves extremely popular, and its lead character becomes the darling of the players. His natural abilities gain him the envy of his two racing coworkers, and the admiration of many of his fellow characters. But when his game loses its popularity, his own self-image becomes his greatest foe. [A/N Inside]
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**

Among the frequently utilized story premises in the Wreck-It Ralph fandom is Turbo's backstory. I'm definitely late to the game on this type of fic, but I'm nonetheless tempted to try; I'd like to think I can offer something new on the topic. At any rate, future stories I have in mind necessitate my writing about Turbo's life during the 1980s first [no, I am _not_ going to have him survive his demise in Diet Cola Mountain so if you're expecting that, prepare to be disappointed]. So, here we go. I hope, dear readers, that you can enjoy this story, despite the well-trodden nature of the ground.

* * *

**Prologue**

It was to be a racing game. That was the thing now, in the CEO's mind- a racing game. It would have the latest in graphics and gaming technology, and would revolutionize the industry, he said. Arcade owners would kill to have it, was the expression he used. It was a metaphor, of course, but it reflected the passion which he felt for the project, and which he hoped his employees would pour into it. With the premise already mapped out, the concept artists were already hard at work, designing the backgrounds, the race course, and the characters. There was just one hitch, however: they had no design for the titular character.

It was maddening, the team knew. They had to have something. Indeed, one of them was already hard at work, attempting to come up with something satisfactory. Unfortunately, he was stuck. He'd gone through design after design but always, the paper would end up crumpled on the floor, or in the trash bin.

There was something he was missing. Something elusive: almost forming in his mind, but not quite sticking.

He glanced down at the figure he had just sketched. The short figure was swathed in a suit of green, gold, red, and blue- almost a jester.

_Too ostentatious_ he decided. _Too eccentric. Besides, he'll blend in with the surroundings like this. He needs to stand out._

Selecting a new sheet of paper, he sketched the figure again, this time adding a slight paunch.

_A _little_ cartoonishness is to be expected._

He stopped before adding the head, however. Something else had caught his attention.

_The suit. What if the suit is mostly white? Add red on the cuffs, the collar…a red stripe low down on each side…red shoes with white bottoms. _

He glanced over the body, observing it closely.

"Excellent," he said aloud.

He drew the head next. But once again, something seemed off. He called one of the other concept artists over to his desk for a second opinion.

"It's too realistically proportioned," the artist replied. "Make it bigger, goofier- more cartoon like."

"Aren't we trying for some realism here?"

"Some, yes. But we want to entice the kids here. Make the head a little bigger and more cartoonish."

The other concept artist returned to his own table, leaving the man to sigh and re-sketch the body as he had drawn it before, this time with a round, cartoonish head beneath the racing helmet.

He looked the figure up and down. He hadn't added facial features yet, but he already knew know that he would never get away with anything too realistic. So he made the eyes rounded, yellow, with no irises around the pupils. Quickly, deftly, he sketched a broad grin on the face, with yellow teeth.

Again, he called the other concept artist over for a second opinion.

"Much better," the artist told him. "He could probably use a few more touches, though."

"Like what?"

"Well for starts, his name is Turbo, right? Any way we can reflect that in the design?"

The man looked thoughtful for several moments. Abruptly, he raised one index finger.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed. "Wait just a second!"

Setting the sketch back on the table, he added a red 'T' across the top of the white helmet.

"Very good," said the concept artist. "We just need one more little touch. Some special pose that we can show him in to the boss."

"Give me a few minutes," said the man. "I'll come up with something."

Ten minutes later, he called concept artist back yet again.

"Two thumbs up," he said, showing his colleague the picture he had just drawn. "He's got both thumbs up in a victory pose."

"That's it," said his colleague. "Get the boss in here. He'll want to see this."

Giddy with excitement, the man picked up the phone and dialed the CEO's office. When he had set the phone down, he remained giddy, staring eagerly at the drawing.

For reasons unknown even to himself, he was suddenly enthusiastic about the less then realistic design.

_Perhaps it's his delight, his enthusiasm, his…confidence. He's magnetic, charismatic…a winner. They'll love him. The kids will love him._

_He's…why, he's Turbotastic!_

It was the daft little slogan the team had come up with for their lead character, a simple, catchy line that could be implemented into the game. He'd been puzzled by it at first, had thought it had sounded inane. But now, as he thought about it, he was becoming increasingly convinced that it was perfect for this particular character.

The boss entered the room. The man watched as he approached his desk.

"May I see it?" the boss asked him.

He held up the sketch. The CEO's eyes went wide.

"Perfect," he said. "That's exactly what we need."

The CEO took in the image of the racer for a few more moments.

"Do you know what you have here?" he said quietly, still gazing at the picture.

"Of course I do," said the man. "He's Turbo. And he's the greatest racer ever."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**_TurboTime_**

Mr. Litwak watched as the workers hauled the new cabinet into the arcade.

"Careful now, careful," he said, as one of the men nearly stumbled.

"These things are heavy," the man remarked.

"I know," said Mr. Litwak.

A few minutes later, the cabinet was in position.

"Well," Mr. Litwak remarked, looking it up and down. "Well, well."

"Looks like it should be popular," said one of the employees. "It's got a steering wheel, for one thing." He gestured at wheel.

"The kids'll love this one," said Mr. Litwak. Clasping both hands about the steering wheel, he gave it a slight turn.

"Vroom, vroom!" he exclaimed spontaneously. Then, remembering he was being watched, he cringed.

"Ah, sorry," he said. "I got a little…caught up in the moment is all it was."

While Mr. Litwak's back was still turned, the two employees who were with him smiled and shook their heads. They already knew what kind of a man they had signed up to work under, and they were fast coming to appreciate him for who he was.

"Anyway," Mr. Litwak continued, turning about, "we'd better plug this thing in. Mr. Smith, will you do us the honors?"

Mr. Smith knelt down and reached for the cord. Taking the end of it, he plugged it into the power strip.

Inside the cabinet, a world flashed into existence.

* * *

On a patch of grass, a small figure sat up and opened his eyes. He blinked several times, looking about him, taking in his surroundings.

He was not puzzled by them. After all, he knew they were supposed to be there. The grandstands with the flickering images of people that represented crowds, the large oval track, the garage- everything was there.

And yet, he had never seen them before in his entire life.

His life? How long had his life lasted? He seemed to recall a spark of a memory, more memories being added, more knowledge. He'd learned of environment, which was now all around him. He'd learned of his purpose, which was to race. He'd learned of his own name, too.

"Turbo."

He spoke the name, allowing its two syllables to spring from his grey lips. They seemed almost musical to him; beautifully simple, yet catchy, like the tune of a memorable song.

He stood up, allowing himself to take in his surroundings more fully. He gazed up at the large screen above him, its dark mass angled over his head.

A blinding light appeared, its rays illuminating the entirety of the environment. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the light.

He hadn't realized it until now, but he'd been standing in the dark. His eyes had been adjusted to the blackness. Now, they would grow accustomed to the light.

"Power's on," he heard a voice say above the glass screen. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. His vision was clearing now; he could the environment plainly once more.

Again, his eyes strayed to the garage. As they did so, he heard a voice say:

"Let's give the game a whirl, eh? Just to make sure it works."

Swiftly, Turbo began to hurry towards the garage. It wasn't simply a desire on his part to do so, although there was that. No, he felt compelled to head towards it.

_Programmed- programmed to do it._

The word flitted through his mind almost instantly- yet another piece of knowledge from that nebulous period which he remembered less of the further back it went. Quickly, he ran for the side door of the garage, entering it and slamming the door shut behind him.

"My, but he's running rather quickly," said a voice.

"Indeed," said another voice. "He must have woken up late."

Turbo turned to see two virtually identical racers standing to his left. Each of them wore a blue suit with a vertical brown stripe down the front, as well as white gloves and shoes, and a blue helmet with a vertical white stripe upon its top. Their facers were similar to Turbo's. Like him, they had yellow eyes with no irises around the pupils, and yellow teeth. Their faces were also grey, albeit of a slightly lighter shade than Turbo's. Their arms were folded across their chests, and they were grinning at him.

"Nitro, Bunsen, good morning." He remembered the names and appearances of his fellow racers, despite never having seen them in his life.

_Or…or _have_ I seen them? But where-?_

"Hey Tur-bun," said Bunsen. "We just got the quarter signal. You gonna get in your car or what?"

_He's the one with ever so slightly thicker eyebrows _Turbo reminded himself. _I'll have to remember that. But…Tur-bun? Why would he call me that?_

"Move your butts!" Nitro exclaimed, already behind the wheel of his little blue car. "We've got fifteen seconds to get out on that course, or our first session is a bust."

While Bunsen leapt into a blue car that was almost identical to Nitro's, Turbo climbed behind the wheel of his own vehicle- a little red and white car that was a short distance behind the other two cars. He glanced down at the controls, activating them from memory.

_But if I've never done it…_

It didn't matter. He knew because he was _supposed_ to know. He was _programmed_ to know how to…race?

_Yes, that's the word. Race. The name of the game. Racing._

He stared past the other two cars towards the door of the garage. It was already lifting, rising at a rapid pace. Nitro and Bunsen began to move their cars forward. Turbo did the same.

_Racing. My purpose, my life. The life that's been planned for me. But why? Why must I race? Perhaps I can make people happy? Make money? No, the last one doesn't sound right. But the former…oh yes, making people happy. Making _gamers_ happy. _

_Gamers? What are gamers?_

The answer came from the depths of his mind, stunning in its simplicity.

_The people who play my game. Of course._

Turbo blinked.

_What do they look like?_

He didn't know the answer to that question.

"The garage is opening," he heard a voice say from outside his game. "I hope this is as fun as they say."

"Should be, from the looks of it," said another voice.

The garage door was now completely open. Turbo passed through it, out onto the track, where Nitro and Bunsen were already waiting.

_This is it. I'm going to race. I'm really going to race._

_I hope this is fun._


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**The First Race**

Turbo's car rolled to a stop just behind Nitro and Bunsen's vehicles. The three cars were at a simple starting grid, with a set of lights ahead of them. One of the lights, a red one, was flashing.

_Not yet. It's not time yet._

He remembered that much, and more- he knew the green light would come on in a few seconds, and he would be allowed to drive forward again. To race.

_Exhilaration. Anticipation. Excellent feelings. You can do this, Turbo. You can do this. _

He glanced towards the screen above. A semi-lean face with glasses and a brown moustache was gazing down at him.

"Hoo, boy!" the man said excitedly. "Here we go."

Turbo gave him a thumbs-up.

_Why did I do that? _

_I guess it seemed like the right thing to do. But still…_

Turbo grinned.

"Turbotastic!" he exclaimed.

He didn't know why he said it. He could not, for the life of him, remember where he had first heard the phrase. But somehow, it seemed to fit the situation.

The red light turned off. The green light flashed gunned his engine, sending his car into full throttle.

_Exhilaration indeed. Fast, intense. Racing? I'm racing?_

His car sped around a corner.

_Say, I wonder how the other guys like this…wait, where are they?_

Turbo tried to glance back, but an irresistible urge to keep looking ahead compelled him not to do so.

_They're not ahead of me. I must have passed them._

Another turn was coming up. The images of the faces in the stands changed their expressions from excitement to worry.

_What is it?_

A blue car appeared beside his.

"Sorry, Tur-bun," said Bunsen. "Gotta get ahead, you know."

_He shouldn't be ahead of me. Why am I not passing him already?_

"More speed!" Turbo heard a voice shout.

"I know, I know," the man above the screen replied. "You're guys' talking distracted me."

Moments later, Turbo's car began to hurtle forward at a break-neck pace.

_Yes! Speed- more speed. That's how it's done, Turbo old boy. That's it. _

The faces in the stands became a blur. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a blue blip, but he paid it no heed. His attention was fixed upon the starting grid that was just ahead.

Suddenly, his car slowed once more. The faces in the stands were coming more clearly into focus. Their expressions were full of excitement.

_What is it? Did I-?_

As his car rolled to a stop, Turbo saw the two blue cars pull up on either side of him.

"Woah!" Nitro exclaimed. "You're fast. It was all I could do to pull my sorry behind across that grid as soon as I did."

Turbo felt a grin spread across his face. "I won!"

"Right-o," said Nitro. "Off to the old ceremonial spot, get your trophy. You've earned it fair and square."

Turbo's grin widened.

_The old ceremonial spot? I think I know what he means._

Spotting a podium to one side, Turbo climbed out of his car and headed towards it. He ascended to the topmost position, at the podium's center, while Nitro and Bunsen mounted the lower positions on either side.

A hole opened in the ground before the podium. A large golden trophy rose out of it, settling into a hover just in front of Turbo's face. He reached out to grab it. As his fingers closed around one of the handles at the side, the hole in the ground snapped shut.

Turbo raised the trophy so that it was above his head. He gazed up at it, admiring its craftsmanship, its beautiful aesthetics. But even more important than its appearance was what it represented. He'd won. He'd pleased the gamers.

Hadn't he?

"You beat the round," said a voice. "And on your first time, too."

"I got lucky, I guess," said the man whose face was above the screen.

Turbo clutched the trophy to his chest.

"Turbotastic!" he exclaimed once more.

He _had_ pleased the gamers.

_Well, one of them at least. There'll be more. And I've got to make them happy, too._

"So, what do you think?" the voice from before asked.

"Oh, I think the gamers will like old Turbo just fine," the man above the screen. "He's got speed, a nifty car, a good-looing track, good looks- yep, he'll do just fine."

The screen darkened a little, obscuring the man's features. He stepped away moments later. As if by reflex, Turbo let go of the trophy, allowing it to float back into the hole in the ground, which had just reopened. As the hole closed once more, he hopped down from his perch. The other two racers did the same.

"Not a bad showing, Tur-bun," said Bunsen. "Of course, next time may be different."

"Maybe," said Turbo. "And would you please tell me why you're calling me that?"

"You haven't discovered your love for coffee rolls yet, have you?"

Turbo arched an eyebrow. "Coffee rolls?"

"You know- cinnamon rolls? Cinnamon _buns_?"

"I do like them," Turbo admitted. "But the connection is still rather…"

"Tenuous?" Nitro offered.

"Say, when did you become a man of big words?" Bunsen said with a snort.

"Hold your temper," Nitro replied. "Let's get these cars back in the garage."

The three racers climbed back into their vehicles and backed them towards the garage, which had just reopened. No sooner had they parked them inside then the garage door shut again.

"Enjoy your day in the sun, Turbo," said Nitro, as the three of them climbed out of the cars. "As I said, you've earned it. But watch out for next time- we might beat you then, if you get a lousy gamer."

Turbo heard the words, but they only barely registered in his mind. He was too preoccupied with contemplating the experience he'd just had.

_Racing. Pleasing gamers. My twin purpose. Why, I still don't_ really_ know_._ But it is. And it's every bit as exhilarating as I could have imagined. _

_You know, for all the dangers, all the pressure to please, to win…I think I could get used to this life._


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Life outside the Game**

"Well, Turbo," Nitro said as they entered the grey wire, "you ready for this?"

"Hah! What do you think?" Turbo replied.

"Just asking," said Nitro. "You proved you can win in the game, but we haven't seen what's out here yet."

"Good thing you're not _scared_, Tur-bun," Bunsen added with a small laugh. "If I get cared, I can count on you to save me."

Turbo, who had been about to take another bite from the coffee-roll in his hand, instead gave Bunsen a glare.

"You ever tried these things?" he said. "They're actually pretty good."

"Peace, friends, peace," said Nitro, wrapping an arm around each of them. "No need to quarrel over a pastry."

Bunsen laughed again.

"Of course. We're stuck with each other, so we'd better get along. Ain't that right, Turbo?"

Turbo stiffened. How dare Bunsen use his name so casually after calling him not using it at all?

But on the other hand, it _was_ his real name.

Turbo relaxed his posture.

"Right," he said. He held out his hand to Bunsen. "Peace?"

Bunsen took his hand.

"Peace," he said, flashing a toothy grin.

"Good," said Nitro. "We're approaching the wire's exit now. Let's see what we find."

As they reached the opening, there was a small flash of light in the floor. A blue, translucent man with a receding hairline appeared in front of them.

"Good evening," he said in an extremely flat, droning monotone. "I am the Surge Protector, and I make sure that every character in this arcade stays safe. Before you leave your game and enter Game Central Station, we need to go over a few things."

"Hey, what's with the blue guy?"

Bunsen's words came out too late for the realization that they were redundant to prevent their being uttered.

"I just explained that, Bunsen," said the Surge Protector. "Now, if you'll please listen, I will explain everything else you need to know."

Bunsen sighed audibly, but remained silent.

"Are you all ready to listen?" said the Surge Protector.

Turbo gave him two thumbs up.

The Surge Protector nodded. "Okay, here's the rest. First off, don't die outside your game. Because if you do, you're dead and gone. You won't regenerate. Period."

Nitro gulped. He ran a finger across his neck.

"Secondly, don't leave your games during arcade hours. Only do so after hours."

Turbo raised a hand.

"Yes?"

"Do we get a schedule?"

"I can get you a list to post in the garage inside your game, if you like."

"Hey," Bunsen chimed in. "How do you know so much about our game when you've only just met us?"

"You're plugged into me," said the Surge Protector. "I know the basics of your game including, among other things, you're all's names."

"Plugged into you?"

The Surge Protector gestured at the opening behind him.

"The room out there, its walls, its circuits, its functions- the body you see before you is but a manifestation of the power within them, which I've created to facilitate easier communication with you and the other characters from the various games. Simply put, I _am_ Game Central Station."

The Surge Protector lowered his arm.

"Now for the rest. You must be back in your game when the arcade opens. If you are not all there, the game may not function properly, and your game will be interpreted as broken. It will then be karted away, and you will be both homeless and jobless.'

'You may visit other games, so long as you do nothing which could hinder their functionality during hours. Do not take anything out of them, for instance.'

'Do not pass through the solitary power outlet in the narrow wall at one end of the station. That leads beyond the arcade. We don't know what's out there, and we can't afford to take any risks finding out."

The Surge Protector paused.

Bunsen spread his hands, palms up.

"And?"

The Surge Protector blinked.

"And obviously, be civil."

He stepped aside.

"You may proceed."

"Be civil," Turbo heard Bunsen muttering as the Surge Protector vanished from sight. "Be civil. Who's the one who needs to be civil? I'm gonna have a long ta-"

Turbo held up a hand to silence him.

"This place," he said, gazing about at the vast atrium they had entered. "Look at this place."

It was long and rectangular, with power outlets like the one they had just come out of lining either side. At one end, they could see the large windows that allowed light to enter and at the other, a single outlet.

Turbo frowned. _The forbidden one. I suppose The Surge Protector has his reasons. At any rate, I suppose I'd better see who all the people around here are-_

His train of though was cut off by the sudden appearance of two floating ping pong paddles.

"The new guys!" one of them exclaimed in a ghostly, yet excited, voice that emanated from the center of its head. "Welcome to Game Central Station, friends. I'm Otis. The other one's Floyd. We're from _Pong_."

"Same from me," said the other paddle, its voice more natural. "We overheard Litwak talking about you guys, saying you were coming."

"Uh…likewise," said Turbo. Instinctively, he held out his hand. Then, remembering that the paddles had no hands, he began to lower it.

"Oh, don't worry," said Otis. "Shake our handles."

The three racers did so, introducing themselves in the process.

"You know…Litwak?" Nitro asked.

"Yeah, Litwak," said Floyd. "The owner of this joint. The guy who played your game not two hours ago."

"So, you talk to him?" Bunsen asked.

"He talks to us," said Otis.

"He knows you're alive?"

"Well…no, he doesn't."

"He doesn't know any of us our alive," Floyd interjected. "None of the gamers do. We keep it that way, we game characters. They think we're all machine components. No need to cause a panic."

"But if they don't know we're alive," Turbo asked, "why do they like us so much?"

"It's a unique kind of appreciation," said Floyd. "You'll come to understand it as time goes on."

Several other game characters were now congregating around the three racers from _TurboTime_. Turbo glanced about him. The characters were decidedly quirky, from the yellow sphere with the face, to the large, green, bug-like creature with red eyes. All of them were clearly eager to meet he and his fellow racers.

"Time for introductions, it seems," said Otis. "The yellow ball there is Pac-Man…"

* * *

It was much later when Turbo, Nitro, and Bunsen re-entered their game. They had spent several hours meeting characters, exchanging greetings, and being the center of attention. Nitro had seemed to take everything in stride. Bunsen, for the most part, had done the same, though Turbo had noticed the odd twitch on Bunsen's part everytime somebody had asked about the first race.

_He wanted to win. Well, I won, and fairly, too. They both know it. _I _know it._

_Maybe he'll get his chance later on. But I'll be sure to give him a run for his money. And whether he does or not, we'll still be racing. _I'll_ still be racing._

_I _know_ I can get used to this life._


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Riding High**

And indeed he could. The next few years were on the whole, a sheer delight for Turbo. The gamers had taken to his cabinet almost instantly, and he had been able to race virtually every single business day. He'd lost almost as often as he'd won -gamers didn't win every time, after all- but at least he'd been racing.

_And making the gamers happy. _

That thought, more than any other, was what brought a smile to Turbo's face as he entered the bar at _Tapper'_s.

_Tapper_- it was but one of many games that had been added since _TurboTime_ had been plugged in, and it had quickly become the characters' primary location for socializing. Turbo had briefly wondered whether the strain of doing around the clock work annoyed Tapper, but as he had never heard a word of complaint from the bartended, he had soon ceased to worry about it. There were other, more important things to worry about.

_Like signing autographs_ Turbo mused as he found himself confronted by a mob of game characters. _Just part of my job. And it's not as if I haven't earned it._

As he finished signing the last autograph and the crowd began to disperse, Turbo's eyes strayed towards the rear corner of _Tapper'_s, where Wreck-It Ralph was sitting.

_Alone._

He'd seen the bad-guy several times over the past few years, had greeted him here and there. But he'd never really bothered to get to know him.

He never could muster an explanation as to why. Certainly, he'd heard about Ralph's notoriously poor temper from the Nicelanders. He'd seen it in action for himself a few times, though never on the level that Gene, the mayor of Niceland, constantly complained about. But it had never quite fazed him the way the way it had most of the other characters.

He eyed Ralph carefully. The giant had his elbows on the table. His face was in his hand, an empty mug beside him on the table. The seat opposite him was empty.

Slowly, but without hesitation, Turbo strode towards Ralph and took the seat opposite him.

"Good evening," he said. "Thinking deep thoughth- er, thought_s_?"

Instantly, Turbo gave an embarrassed sigh.

_That voice is only for annoying Bunsen. _Not_ for social time._

If Ralph had noticed that Turbo has accidently lisped, he didn't seem willing to show it. Instead, he simply raised his eyes until they met Turbo's gaze.

"Good evening," Ralph said, almost mechanically.

"You're alone?"

"Nobody'll sit with me."

"_I'm _sitting with you."

"It's the first time."

The comment stung, and Turbo was annoyed that it did. He rolled his eyes.

"Look," he said, "I'm trying to be friendly here. Don't snap at me."

Ralph straightened.

"Why aren't you hanging out with all your fans?"

"Even I need a break from adoration every once in a while, Ralph."

"And I never get any."

There was so much pain, so much resentment behind the comment that Turbo could practically taste it. Yet it puzzled him.

"Your game's popular, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah, it is."

"And the gamers like you?"

"Yep, they do."

"So why are you feeling so down?"

"How do you do it- be so well-liked by everyone around here, I mean?"

Turbo folded his arms across his chest.

"My natural abilities," he said. "You've got some of your own- use them."

"I do," Ralph replied. "They're why everyone hates me."

Turbo's expression softened slightly.

"That's a pity," he said. "I'm not sure what else to tell you, though."

"Couldn't you talk to Gene and the Nicelanders?" Ralph asked, his expression brightening ever so slightly. "Your word might carry some weight with them."

Turbo held up his hands.

"Woah there, woah" he said. "What'd be the use of that?"

"But they'd listen to you."

"No they wouldn't, Ralph," said Turbo. "If anything, they'd throw me out of the penthouse head-first."

Ralph's hopeful expression melted away.

"You're probably right," he said with a heavy sigh.

"Hang in there, Ralph," Turbo said standing up to go. "And remember- if the gamers love you, you're halfway there."

* * *

When Turbo returned to his game, he was greeted by the sight of a sullen looking Bunson, lounging against the wall of the garage.

"Welcome back, Tur-bun," he sneered. "You have fun signing your fifty bajillion autographs?"

"It was only twenty," Turbo shot back.

"You kept count, huh?" Bunsen rolled his eyes. "Good for you, you can do math."

"Don't you have better things to do than fight?" Turbo shot back, his temper already rising.

"No one else'll talk to me now, 'cept Nitro," said Bunsen. "And after all this time, I've already got him figured out. Only difference between him and me is that he won't tell it like it is, and I will."

"You mean he doesn't pick fights with me," Turbo retorted.

"And he has a hard time not doing so," said Nitro, approaching the quarreling pair. "Really Turbo, haven't you figured it out yet?"

"Figured what out? My purpose? I figured that out long ago."

Nitro sighed. "I wish we could all just get along."

"We can," said Turbo, "if Mithtur Bad-Mouth would be willing to thhut up."

"That lisp is irritating," Bunsen said through gritted teeth.

"Enough!" Nitro shouted. "Turbo, stop being conceited."

"Conceited my eye! It isn't conceit if it's backed up by deeds."

At this, Bunsen nearly leaped at Turbo. Only a sharp gesture by Nitro persuaded him not to.

"Look, Turbo," Nitro said. "We all know you can race, and you can do it well. But can you please stop letting it go to your head?"

"It never did," said Turbo. "Any time I ever mention something I've accomplished, it's factual. And besides, I've lost before, to both of you. I'll admit it."

"Bragging isn't limited to exaggerations," Nitro replied.

"Fair enough," said Turbo. "Now can we just get Mr. Angry here to finally keep his side of the bargain we made back when we were first plugged in? You know- the one he broke first?"

"And that you broke also," said Bunsen. "Your hands aren't exactly clean either."

Turbo sighed.

"Enough of this," he said. "I'm going to get some rest before the arcade opens."

He entered the garage and went straight for his cot, not bothering to say farewell to his fellow racers.

Life wasn't easy when Bunsen wouldn't let him be.

He simply couldn't understand where the racer was coming from. Bunsen had beaten Turbo plenty of times, and had gained the golden trophy almost as frequently as he himself had. Wasn't that enough?

Turbo had at first wondered whether Bunsen was annoyed by the fact that his winning meant the gamers had lost, and were therefore displeased. But whenever he'd asked Bunsen if this were the case, his coworker had vehemently denied it. Instead, he had taken to attacking Turbo, calling him a braggart and a boaster.

_Really? How can he not realize that I'm only fulfilling requests? The other characters _want_ to hear about my achievements, my victories. I'm just doing a kindness for them, giving them what they want. _

Turbo arrived beside his cot. Setting aside his helmet, he examined himself in the mirror. His receding hairline meant that he didn't have to waste much energy on personal grooming. Instead, he simply had to wear his helmet constantly, so the other characters wouldn't rub his bald spot for good luck in their game sessions.

_I made that mistake once- never again._

The thought made him strap his helmet back on.

_Better be safe. Bunsen's in a foul mood again. He might try it just to bother me._

Turbo climbed onto his cot and pulled the sheets over his body.

_Better think happy thoughts_ he told himself as he began to doze off. _Another new game's coming in tomorrow, and I'll have to greet the characters. What was the name Mr. Litwak mentioned again?_

_Oh yes- _Roadblasters.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Neglect**

Before the arrival of _Roadblasters, _if anyone had asked Turbo whether he was worried about losing his popularity, he would have dismissed the very possibility of being concerned. He, a popularity freak? Never. Life in the arcade didn't need to be a popularity contest. After all, every game in the arcade got played at some point or other during business days. There was more than enough popularity to go around.

But now that _Roadblasters_ had been plugged in for a month, he had come realize just how wrong he had been about himself. He _did_ care about popularity. It was popularity that enabled him to fulfill his purpose of pleasing the gamers.

The fact that _Roadblasters_ was a racing game should, he now knew, have been a warning sign. But at the time, it hadn't concerned him.

_Yet how could it have? Every other game that was plugged in after I got here had the same burst of initial attention given to it by gamers and characters alike. I had no reason to expect this would be any different._

But it _had_ been different. _Roadblasters_ was _very _different. He knew because the gamers had said so.

_Better graphics. That's all they talk about- better graphics. They talk about it even as they play _my _game- which they only do when _Roadblasters_ isn't available and sometimes not even then. Ungrateful jerks. Don't they know how I slave every day for them? Don't they know how hard this is, putting up with Bunsen every day so I can try to please them? And they aren't happy, ever. They insult my appearance. They _insult _it. _

Turbo shook his head.

_No, Turbo, don't be so quick to anger. Control yourself. This could just be a passing fad. Give it a month or two, they'll be back to my game in droves, and still play _Roadblasters_ also. We'll be able to share the task of pleasing the gamers, as we always have around here._

He reached for the mug of root beer on the table before him and took another sip. His eyes flicked towards the seat opposite him, where Ralph was likewise drinking.

Over the past month, he had increasingly begun to drink with Ralph during his visits to _Tapper_'s. They didn't usually say anything to each other. They would sit across from each other, drink their root beer slowly, and then part ways for the rest of the day and that would be it. Still, Turbo valued the company.

_He can't know what I'm going through. My problem is different than his. But at least he knows what it is to _have_ struggles._

_Maybe he'd listen, though. _

Turbo placed his mug back on the table.

"Bunsen's been acting like a jerk again," he said.

The silence had been shattered, but Ralph didn't seem to mind.

"I know," he replied. "I've heard."

Emboldened by this admission, Turbo went on.

"You'd think he'd be upset too. The gamers are insulting him also. It's _his_ game that's being neglected. Instead, he acts like it's just another opportunity to get under my skin."

"Want me to rough him up a bit?"

Turbo blinked, surprised.

_I'm tempted to accept that offer. But I ought to be above that._

"No," he said. "It wouldn't be right. And you get enough flack as it is for your temper. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble for expressing it on my account."

"Never mind, then," Ralph replied, shrugging. "It was just a thought."

They returned to sipping their root beers.

_He was actually willing to beat up Bunsen for me? I'd never have expected that. I guess maybe he _does_ know what I'm going through. _

_Or maybe he can at least guess. I mean, Bunsen's jibes aren't exactly a secret anymore. He'll make his remarks in Game Central Station itself._

His root beer finshed, Turbo stood up. Giving Ralph a brief nod of farewell, he exited the bar and headed back to his own game.

When he arrived, Bunsen was waiting beside the garage.

Turbo sighed.

"Can't you give me a moment's peace?" he said.

"Nope," said Bunsen, grinning. "No when it looks like you and I will be out of a job soon."

"We still get played," Turbo spat. "For all you know, this could just be an extended burst of initial popularity. In fact, it probably is. The gamers will come back. Just give them time."

"I have been," said Bunsen. "We're finished- through. And when we get put out to pasture, I'm going to be there to say I told you so- blockface."

At the sound of the gamers' favorite insult for him, Turbo's fists clenched.

"I don't know how I've managed to avoid giving you a lesson in pain," he said through gritted teeth.

"Do it," said Bunsen. "We're in our own game. We can regenerate."

"No," said Turbo, turning away abruptly. "I won't."

"Hey, what's the matter?" Bunsen asked as Turbo walked away. "Losing your nerve, blockface?"

"No, I'm not," Turbo called over his shoulder. "It's just that I'd never hear the end of it from Nitro."

He entered the garage, slamming the door behind him.

_I don't know how much more of this I can take. Day in and day out he's like this. What is he, insecure?_

_Nah, the smugness is too plain on his face. He's _enjoying _himself. Jerk._

Turbo proceeded to refrigerator. Kneeling down, he opened it.

_Where are they? Where are- ah, here they are._

He selected a tub from one of the shelves. Opening it, he selected one of the cinnamon rolls inside and set it on a plate. After returning the tub to the refrigerator, he set the cinnamon roll in the microwave.

_Thirty seconds always does it._

He punched in the appropriate number.

_Nothing like comfort food to calm one's nerves._

_Nerves? Am I losing my nerve?_

_Perhaps I am. But that's still no reason for him to rub it in._

The microwave dinged, and Turbo removed the cinnamon roll. The odor of cinnamon and sugar assailed his nostrils at once.

_You can insult me all you like, Bunsen. But you can never take away my undying love for these things._

_And when the gamers come back, you can eat your own words for breakfast._


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Desperation**

But they didn't come back. In fact, they came less and less. By the time another month had passed, _TurboTime_ wasn't attracting any gamers at all.

Business days became the gloomiest time of the week for Turbo. Not that the rest of his existence was any cheerier, with Bunsen's continual snide remarks.

"Turbo," his fellow racer had said on the first day that their game had received no players. "Turbo, it seems I was right after all. We're destined for the garbage-heap."

Turbo hadn't said a word in response; he had merely stalked off to the bar, where he had ordered an extra-large mug of root beer.

So it was that when, on the morning of June the 3rd, 1987, Litwak's Arcade opened for business, Turbo had not reason to expect that things would be any different.

For the first few hours of the day, he leaned against the edge of the garage, staring sullenly at the ground, not saying a word. Even Bunsen was silent this time- not that his silence raised Turbo's spirits overmuch.

And then, about the middle of the afternoon, he heard a familiar clanking sound. Stunned, he raised his head.

_Could it be?_

The screen lit up, and he felt himself compelled to walk towards the garage.

_It is!_

In less than a minute, he was behind the wheel of his little red and white car once again. Ahead of him, in their own cars, Nitro and Bunsen were likewise prepared for the oncoming race. The latter seemed visibly confused, as though he were genuinely shocked. At the sound of Turbo's engine, Bunsen began to turn his head towards Turbo.

"Eat your heart out, Bunthen!" Turbo called to his coworker.

Bunsen's head finished turning his head. Turbo had only the briefest glimpse of the racer's former expression before it changed to a scowl.

_Wait- was he smiling?_

The thought was instantly forgotten as Bunsen's scowl changed to a smirk.

"Get ready to lose again, Blockface," he said.

Before either Turbo or Nitro could make a remark, the garage finished opening. The three cars rolled to a stop at the starting grid. Turbo turned to give the player a thumbs up.

There was nobody there.

Confused, Turbo glanced further out beyond the screen. Two boys had just finished running over towards the _Roadblasters_ cabinet and were already sliding quarters in. As he watched, they commenced a session.

"These are the greatest graphics I've ever seen!" one of the boys exclaimed.

"I know, right?" the other one said. "So much better than _TurboTime_. We stop coming for two months, and then this thing shows up."

Turbo's grin had already changed into a frown, but now his frown changed into a scowl.

They had abandoned him in mid-game. No-one had _ever_ done that before.

He stared, his mind a jumble of half-finished, angry thoughts.

_How could they-? Why-? Don't they know-?_

"They just…left us."

It was Nitro who had spoken. The sound of his voice jerked Turbo out of his faux-paralysis.

"Yeah," Bunsen added, his voice a mixture of dejection and snark. "Guess things couldn't work out after all. It was a fool's hope that they'd ever come back. Eh, Blockface?"

Turbo turned to face Bunsen, his gaze full of fury.

"Face, it," Bunsen continued. "We're done. They've got all the popularity now."

With every ounce of his strength, Turbo twisted his car off of the starting grid. Defying the programming that bound his car to the track, he swerved towards the entrance to the wire. As he drove frantically towards it, the screen flickered and went dark.

"Popularity?" he shouted. "I'll show you popularity!"

Down the wire he careened, driving more furiously than he ever had before. Out of the wire he sped and into Game Central Station. By the time the Surge Protector had materialized, he was halfway across Game Central Station. By the time the Surge Protector had shouted for him to stop, he was already in the wire that led to _Roadblasters_.

Out of the wire he sped and onto the green fields of the game. Ahead, he could see a red car pulling ahead of a yellow one.

"Turbotastic!" he shouted, and drove directly into across the track into the field on the other side. His mind barely registered that the red car has crashed into a tree and was in the process of regenerating. He was too busy focusing on giving the boys his signature grin as he passed the screen.

_They'll notice me that way._

"Hey!" he heard one of the boys exclaim. "Is that-?"

_They noticed me!_

He spun his car about and re-crossed the road.

"Turbotastic!" he cried once more.

"That looks like Turbo," the other boy said. "What's Turbo doing in this game?"

Turbo spun his car about once more. The driver in the red car was staring out of his window, his jaw down.

Furiously, Turbo drove his car towards the red vehicle- and straight into it.

The screen flickered. The red car exploded again and began the process of regenerating. Turbo kept on grinning.

_Now they see! Now they see popularity! I'm Turbo! I'm the gamers' friend! They should share their time with me! I'm here to give them a great time!_

"Turbotastic!" he shouted yet again.

Turbo had driven onto the green again and was turning his car about, when he heard one of the boys call a name in a supplicatory tone:

"Mr. Litwak!"


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**Double Armageddon**

Bunsen stared at the place where Turbo has been. His jaw was down, his eyes wide with shock.

"I didn't think…"

His voice trailed off, to be replaced by stupefied silence.

"I told you," Nitro said, getting out of his car. "I told you not to egg him on. Now look what happened."

Bunsen leaped out of his own car and spun to face Nitro.

"You were waiting for this moment."

Bunsen's voice was weary, almost sad.

"With dread," Nitro replied. "But I'd better take some blame. I should've worked harder to keep the peace between you guys. Now all we can do is wait for him to come back."

"But will he?" Bunsen asked. "He's crazy-furious!"

"I know," said Nitro.

"And our screen looks busted," Bunsen added, his voice rising.

"I know."

"And you aren't in a panic yet?"

"_Yes_!"

Bunsen blinked.

"You aren't used to me yelling?" Nitro asked him. "Well, that's because I know how to hold my temper. But I've had enough. You and your petty ego, your inflexible- _why_ won't you just admit that you're prone to jealousy?"

Bunsen backed up several paces.

"B-but I never meant-"

"You never meant to drive Turbo to this? I believe that. But don't tell me you never meant to rile him up. You can't handle that he's the main character in the game, that a victory for you is a loss for the gamers. You can't handle not getting your 'fair share'."

Bunsen didn't say a word. Nitro had plunged an iron hand into his very soul and exposed it so prominently that he could no longer deny it, even to himself.

"I know," he said quietly. "But he's been letting his role go to his head."

"We both know that," said Nitro. "Now all we can do is let Mr. Litwak have our cabinet repaired."

"Will we get unplugged again?"

"Like when our spot in the power strip got changed? Probably not. But if it does, we'll be just fine- he'll just turn off our power before he pulls the plug. We'll be quite safe."

"But we can't be fixed without Turbo, can we?"

Before Nitro could reply, there was the sound of paper hitting a screen. Both looked up to see an orange slip of paper blocking out their view of the outside world.

"Can you repair it?" they heard Mr. Litwak saying.

_The repairman's already here?_ Bunsen wondered. _That was quick. He must have been on hand at the moment Turbo drove off. _

"No way," the repairman said moments later.

The two racers heard Mr. Litwak sigh.

"Two games done in," he said. "Here, I'll pull the plugs."

Bunsen and Nitro looked at each other.

"Plugs plural?" Bunsen said.

"Turbo must have gone into _Roadblasters_," Nitro replied.

"And two plugs are getting pulled…right away?"

Nitro gulped.

"They aren't turning the power off first. We don't know what could-"

The rest of his voice was drowned out by a roaring sound.

"Oh no."

* * *

The first thing Turbo was aware of was the noise. It was deafening, drowning out his thoughts for several moments. He gazed about. The air was becoming a swarming mass of pixels. The very environment was collapsing around him. And he knew. He knew that he had to get out of _Roadblasters_ as quickly as possible.

He made straight for the wire entrance. Behind him, he could hear screams of terror, but he ignored them. Onward he drove, heedless of the strings of code that whipped past him.

_Almost there…_

Into the wire he plunged.

_Made it- ah!_

He glanced behind him. The rearmost portion of his car was starting to dissolve.

_No! Faster, Turbo, faster you idiot!_

He slammed the gas pedal down as far as it could possibly go, forcing the kart to accelerate to its greatest possible speed. He was driving at a breakneck pace, driving faster than he ever had in his entire life. He felt the air whip about his face, felt himself propelled forward, out of the wire-

-and into the open air.

_What? Where am I?_

Turbo glanced about him. His car was gone, dissolved into atoms. Behind him, a large hand could be seen, pulling the cord away from the power strip. In front of him was another hand, pulling another cord away from the power strip.

_The cord to my game._

As Turbo began to plummet, he glanced at the opening of _TurboTime_'s cord.

_Bunsen?_

* * *

No sooner had their world begun to collapse about them then Bunsen and Nitro were already running for the wire. They said nothing; they didn't look back. Their only thought was to get away.

Bunsen reached the wire first. He spared a brief glance behind him. Nitro had stumbled, and was struggling against the invisible force that was trying to pull him backwards into the vortex of pixels.

Without a word, Bunsen seized Nitro by the arms and yanked him into the wire.

The two racers commenced running once more.

"Not much farther!" Bunsen cried.

They turned a corner. The wire exit was straight ahead.

"Bunsen!" Nitro shouted. "Something's got me."

Bunsen spun about. Nitro was suspended in the air, caught in an unseen grip.

"Grab my hand!" Bunsen urged, extending one arm.

As Nitro's fingers began to wrap around Bunsen's hand, he screamed. His legs began to dissolve, and then his torso. His skin slid away, exposing his skeletal frame of coding. Moments later, this too had dissolved, leaving Bunsen clutching empty air.

Stunned, Bunsen could only stare in horror at the spot where his coworker had been.

_He's dead._

He turned back towards the wire opening. Desperately, he stumbled towards it. The cord was already half unplugged.

_I won't make it._

He felt himself rise into the air, caught in the same grip that had taken Nitro.

_I'm going to die._

It wasn't the fact that scared him. No, it was the circumstances that had brought him to such a fate.

_I drove Turbo to this. I made this happen._

_What have I done?_

He felt his legs dissolving, felt the terrible pain rippling through his body.

Glancing ahead one more time, he saw that the wire had been complete unplugged. Outside, he could see the floor of the arcade itself- and a familiar figure falling through the air. Their eyes met.

_Turbo._

He didn't stop to wonder where Turbo had come from, didn't dare to question the fate that had given him one last glimpse of his fellow racer. Instead, he spoke two words.

He knew that Turbo couldn't hear him, would never have the opportunity to hear him. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to say the words. He spoke them in a voice that was barely even a whisper- all he could manage with the little strength that remained to him. Into them, he poured ever last ounce of passion he had, every last drop of repentance he could muster. Two words only, two words at the end of his life. Yet they were full of conviction.

"Forgive me."

And then he was sinking, sinking into oblivion…

* * *

Turbo had just time enough to see his fellow racer dissolve into a mass of pixels. And then he was falling towards the power strip…


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Turbo opened his eyes. He stretched, blinked, tested his limbs.

_Nothing broken. Good._

_Where am I?_

He sat up and looked about him. He was in a narrow, darkened passageway. The walls on either side of him were covered in lights and wiring. Before him and behind him, the passage stretched onwards into darkness. A thin ray of light shown down through a little hole in the ceiling above him.

_Just wide enough for me to have passed through._

_I'm inside the power strip._

And then the events came rushing back to his mind.

_What was I thinking? I just rushed out- but no! The gamers snubbed me. They all snubbed me! _

_But my game's gone. My fellow racers are gone._

_Bunsen's gone? Good riddance._

_But his face when he died…and _how_ he died…_

_He deserved it._

_But Nitro didn't._

_No, he didn't. But that's not my fault. I did what had to be done. I showed those upstarts in _Roadblasters._ I showed those two boys. I showed them all!_

_Showed them all what? How petty I am?_

_But no- I'm still alive. If fate had deemed my actions unjustified, I would be dead. The chances of falling through that one little tiny crack in the plastic coating of the power strip were one in a million. _

He stood up.

_I can't show myself to the other characters. I broke a taboo. They won't understand. _

_But where to stay?_

_Here. I can stay here. Out of sight, out of mind, until I find a new place to stay._

_Until I find a new way to please the gamers again. They'll see just who they've rejected. I'm Turbo, and I'm the greatest racer ever. I live to serve gamers, to make them happy. And by my code, I'll make them happy. If it takes me thirty years, I'll find a way to ingratiate myself with them again. _

He grinned and gave two thumbs up.

_Everything will be Turbotastic._

* * *

**And so concludes this fic. It wasn't overly long, but I hope it was of sufficient quality to be enjoyed. **

**As always, if you choose to leave me a comment/review, I will read it, and take any constructive criticism you may have for me into consideration.**

**Thank you for reading this story.**

**~ crankyman7**


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